The most difficult of tasks
by joiedevivre2011
Summary: It's been nearly 12 hours since she jumped. [spoilers for 5x13. Maura's POV. one-shot]


_"For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation."_ \- Rainer Maria Rilke

* * *

All night I've prepared myself for this. Jane not surviving, perhaps not even finding her body. It's been nearly 12 hours since she jumped. The water wasn't and isn't warm and the currents could have easily swept her out to sea. The odds of her making it have been decreasing with every minute. After so many hours, this could simply become the body recovery mission of my best friend, the woman I love more than anything and anyone in this world .

At the break of dawn, after more than seven hours had passed, images of attending her funeral began to plague me.

Every moment brought a new detail. Jane lying in a casket, cold, lifeless, the polar opposite of everything she is. The pungent smell of funeral flower arrangements. I know I could never love flowers again. A eulogy. One they would undoubtedly ask me to give, but I'd never be able to. I'd never be able to. I'd be too numb, practically catatonic.

No words could ever summarize Jane. How brilliant the inner workings of her mind are. How she puts her life on the line every single day in the name of justice. How steadfast and surprisingly affectionate she is. How much I would miss her, everything about her, right down to her horrid habits, like never throwing food out, no matter how long past the expiration date.

I don't know if I can do this without her, live this life, do my job. Everything around me reminds me of her . Memories all over this city.

Sunday morning breakfasts in her apartment. Hot coffee, scrambled eggs, though whites only for me, even bacon from time to time.

Drinks at the Dirty Robber. My wine, her beer. Her terrible penchant for ordering a large basket of fries, always knowing I would steal a few. Perhaps more than a few. Our endless banter over lunch, or the course of an evening.

Going our separate ways in the morning arriving at the station, her up, me down. A tender smile at each other when stepping into our respective elevators. Delivering test results to the bullpen and seeing her head turn in my direction at the sound of my designer heels on the floor. Her dimpled smile greeting me. Her complaining about the furniture in my office and the African masks adorning the walls. Her hopping onto empty autopsy tables as I work diligently to find something, anything, to help find a lead in one of her cases.

Fenway at every game we've ever been to. How she heckled the players, cried out angrily at the umpire's calls. The fly ball she once caught for me.

Every crime scene we've ever worked together.

Heartbreak Hill. The night we ran through the makeshift finish line of the Boston Marathon, celebrating, throwing our arms around each other in triumph. Standing there in a warm embrace, how I had the sudden urge to kiss her.

St. Patrick's Day parade. How she told me the first one after we became friends that if I didn't wear green, she'd pinch me all day long. How I contemplated wearing a green lingerie set underneath my devoid-of-green outfit, just so I could perhaps find a subtle way of giving her a peek just to see her blush.

Our morning jogs in the Commons. Stretching. Commenting on passersby. Rewarding ourselves with coffee on the way in to work.

My Prius. Spilled coffee. Programmed radio stations I would never listen to. Always having to move the driver's seat forward again after she drives.

My house. God, my house. Sitting on the sofa together, watching TV, talking, doing nothing but reading. Constant meals together. Rizzoli family events. Repairing Frankie's motorbike in the courtyard. Her shampoo and conditioner and body wash in my shower. Always mine because she said my showerhead made the water pressure better. Even the instant coffee she keeps stashing around the kitchen even after I find the newest hiding spot.

Every single inch of this city we've seen and experienced by each other's side.

Her lack of presence would very likely haunt me to the point of insanity.

A question Jane recently asked me began running through my mind. _What do you call a nightmare that happens to you when you're awake?_

I'd told her it wasn't possible.

I was wrong. Beyond wrong.

From the second Jane climbed over that bridge railing to this very moment waiting for the boat to come in, I have been having the worst nightmare of my entire life and I haven't even closed my eyes.

There's been a lump lodged in my throat since I saw her disappear into the river and no matter what I've done, it hasn't gone away. The thousands of memories rushing back to me have only made it worse.

After receiving word that a fisherman might have spotted something, I quicken my pace toward the dock where the fisherman's boat is arriving. Frankie is keeping up next to me. Adrenaline is rushing in my body. My heart is beating so quickly it's unnerving. I feel winded, terribly so. A hint of perspiration. Knots wind themselves in my stomach and I'm not sure if I want to keep walking, turn around and run, or just be sick right then and there .

But I can't do this here. Not now. If I can stare death in the face every day in my job, I can hold myself together long enough to be alone. Be clinical. Detached. It's what I've forced myself to do for as long as I can remember. It is much easier to feel so little, but in this moment, I'm fighting a battle I'm not sure I can win. Jane has made me feel so much. Love. Compassion. The warmth and craving of another's touch. It has become harder and harder to cut off those emotions.

As I approach the gangway to the dock and see the boat, I force myself to stop and Frankie does the same. I breathe in shallowly, fighting tears, and glance for only a second to my left at Frankie. My hand rises in an attempt to cover my mouth to hold back a sob threatening to escape, but instead I move my hands to my hips, my elbows pointed outwards. I only barely hear the siren in the distance.

The captain kills the engine and the boat slides against the dock. The crew works quickly to secure it with ropes. I glance at Frankie, meeting his eyes fleetingly, but then look away again, closing my eyes and forcing my gaze down. This is horrifying to watch. I feel as if I'm being tortured, and in a sense, I am. When my eyes finally rise, I press my lips together in a thin line, trying to suppress the despair clawing its way to the surface.

And then I simply _can't _watch. I _have _to look away. Force the overwhelmed feeling backwards just a bit. It works just enough for me to be able to return my gaze to the boat.

When the boat is completely docked, the captain's cabin door opens. I hold my breath, swallow hard, trying to break that lump that seems to have lodged itself in my throat permanently.

The first figure out of the cabin is Jane. Her dark hair is plastered wet to her neck and shoulders, around the front of her chest. A tawny blanket is wrapped around her, hands clutching it tightly. The man behind her is close at her side, his hand nearly touching her back, supporting her and making sure she keeps her balance.

I suck in a breath, not sure I believe what I'm seeing. She's alive and appears to be uninjured. She's walking on her own. My lungs expel sour air. I feel so much relief, more than I've ever felt before when she's been in danger, whether it's been at her own hands or another's. I have to close my eyes and look down.

It's too much for me to bear.

Frankie suddenly cries out her name and takes off down the gangway, clearly giving no thought to his own safety in that moment.

Just like another Rizzoli I know.

I remain at the top. I'm still wondering whether or not I can truly face her, put myself in her presence, her warm, loving, protective embrace, without falling completely apart. Like Frankie, I want to run down the gangway to her. But I, instead I just want to cradle her jawline with my hands, pull her forward to me, press trembling lips to trembling lips. I want to show her everything I've never been able to tell her verbally, everything I feel. When I pull back, I want nothing more than to murmur, looking into her deep, dark eyes, "You're such an idiot, Jane." But there would be no malice in my words. They would be softly spoken. I would let her see every emotion I've been feeling, show her the effect of what she did.

And she would know. She'd finally understand and pull me back against her, hold me so tightly as if she'd never let go. It wouldn't matter that we're surrounded by dozens of people, most of them focused on her, on us.

The scenario plays out in my head, making my heart beat faster, my stomach flutter, feel more alive than ever before.

Tentatively I step onto the gangway, just moving through the motions, robotic. When I reach the bottom, I hop lightly down, even though it's only the height of a stair step. I absolutely cannot look away from Jane now. I don't even want to. Despite my normally good posture, my shoulders slump forward in defeat.

Silently I observe Frankie and Jane as he hugs her, hear him comment about being grateful Angela made them take so many swimming lessons. I can hear it over the sound of the water slapping against boats and seawalls. The dull chatter of those around us. The wind. Even the seagulls .

In my head, though, I also hear the splash of her hitting the river last night.

My own screams of her name torment me. They may for a very long time.

The sounds all mix together in my head, overwhelming me.

Frankie then takes a step back, glancing in my direction, and Jane's dark eyes finally lock with mine.

My face begins to contort into one signaling tears, and I fight them back, pressing my lips together in a thin line. I don't have a choice. Not here. Not now. There are too many people watching me, watching us.

They cannot see me fall apart. And what's more, if I _let_ myself fall apart here on this dock, in front of Jane, Frankie, Korsak, and everyone else, I don't know how I'll manage to regain composure.

As soon as Jane's brother steps to the side, indicating I should approach, I hesitate for just a moment, then step quickly toward her, closing the few feet between us. I pull her into my arms and desperately try to keep myself from clinging to her as if my life depended on it.

"I've never been so happy to see you." Sincere. Relieved.

Her words rip into my heart and I can feel my carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. Keeping them intact is taking every bit of energy I have left. I'm fading fast.

I have to escape. I need to separate myself from the whirlwind of activity around me and the raging storm of emotions inside.

With a brief pat of my right hand over her upper back, I force myself to step back from her. The fact that we've hugged this long, much longer than she and her brother, is likely suspicious and I know it.

Jane Rizzoli is my biggest weakness, but I'm not ready for the world to know it.

My hands remain on Jane's upper arms, lightly gripping them. I can't help but glance down, then up again to her watching me with curious eyes. Ashamed, I look back down for just a moment then coldly say, "I'll see you back at the office." My eyes seek hers again. Just for a moment.

Then I immediately turn away.

If I could, I would run. I am overpowered by how much I feel, but fear and sadness are rapidly giving way to indignation.

As I brush by Korsak, I quietly request, "Take good care of her."

I know Jane is standing there watching me walk away. My reaction now is undoubtedly confusing to her.

Slowly I make my way back up the gangway, using the railing to pull myself forward and up with each step. I need it. My legs feel weak, along with the rest of my body. The last bit of energy I had left is gone. It was used in pulling back and walking away from Jane. I push myself onward, telling myself I can't give in. I can't turn back around to look at her because if I do, I'll go running back into her arms.

It is not an available choice.

Much like _not _loving her isn't one either.


End file.
